Judgement Day: Role Reversal
by Gunnery Sergeant
Summary: Title pretty much says it all. What if it had been Gibbs and not Jenny in Los Angeles, attending Decker’s funeral? How would have it gone?This is a Gibbs and Jenny centric story, not a Jibbs. It features Gibbs/Ziva as sub-plot. See note inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Judgment Day- Role Reversal **

**By Gunnery Sergeant**

A/N: This story is not a Jibbs, and Jenny's feelings for Gibbs are canon, based on her actions and what she said to Franks in "Judgment Day". Also there are mentions of another, non-canon pairing, my OTP. However I classify this story as gen because the romantic relationship is not the focus of the story, but just a sub-plot, as much as the Gibbs/Hollis or Tony/Jeanne pairings were in the series.

**Part One**

_Los Angeles, May 18, 2008 _

Leroy Jethro Gibbs had always hated attending funerals, especially when the deceased had died long before their time-- something that, unfortunately, had happened too many times in his life.

However, today's funeral wasn't very hard to endure, for he and the deceased had never been close.

Gibbs was there in Jenny's place, as she had been summoned to a last-minute meeting with the SecNav, but had still wanted that someone from the NCIS Washington office attended William Decker's funeral.

Gibbs had been chosen because he had known and worked with Decker years before, when he and Jenny had been sent on an undercover mission in Europe .

When the funeral ended, Gibbs watched as Sasha, Decker's girlfriend, was helped into a car and left the cemetery. Gibbs had noticed that Decker's family members had shunned the girl before the ceremony, perhaps because they hadn't approved his relationship with a woman so much younger than him.

Gibbs felt a sparkle of irritation: as someone happily in love with a younger woman, he knew that when all the important things worked in a relationship, age wasn't such a problem.

He was about to walk toward his rented car and leave, when a man hardly dressed for a funeral, climbed the steps two by two and approached the clerk that stood by the church gates with the registry the attendees signed on their way out.

Gibbs' gut gave a sign of warning and he stretched his neck to hear what the newcomer wanted.

"Sorry," the church clerk was saying, "What was that name again?"

"Mr. Oshimaida."

Gibbs' felt his blood chill upon hearing a name he had never wanted to hear, but he forced himself not to react in any way, as he inwardly cursed. It looked like the past was returning to haunt them again. Wasn't all the grief they had suffered with the recent La Grenouille fiasco enough?

Gibbs kept on listening to the conversation between the clerk and the man, as his mind worked out a plan of action. He was too far away from his car to follow the man when he left, so he had to think of something else…

"First name?"

"There are more than one?"

"No, sir, in fact, there's nobody here by that name."

"Check again," the man insisted.

Gibbs nodded, relieved. So he didn't know who was looking for, which gave the NCIS agent an advantage on the man, if he played his cards well.

"Sorry, sir. I've checked the registry twice. There is no Mr. Oshimaida. But if you'd like to leave  
your name, perhaps, I can-"

The clerk didn't complete the line, because the man had turned on his heels and left.

Without losing time, Gibbs took his cell and, making sure he wasn't seen, he started snapping pictures of the man as he followed him down the steps and toward a dark SUV. As he snapped shoots, Gibbs blessed Abby's stubborn insistence in teaching him to use that function of his phone.

He continued taking shoots until the SUV disappeared from his sight, then walked toward his own car.

He had to find a phone stall, because he had two calls to place, and one of them couldn't come from his cell.

**-----**

Gibbs was in his hotel room, sitting on a table with the prints of the pictures he had taken spread in front of him. The shots weren't much; Abby too had complained about them when – following her detailed instructions – he had managed to send them to her.

Gibbs hoped his favourite lab rat would be able to find something that would unable her to identify the man at the funeral. He also hoped Abby would keep her mouth shut and not go to DiNozzo or, worse, to Ziva or Jenny.

What he was doing was meant to keep them safe. Ziva wasn't as directly involved as Jenny was, but Gibbs knew she would run to him if she just suspected he might be in trouble, and he didn't want to put her life in danger.

Gibbs was aware that, in the bottom of his heart, he was a chauvinist, but he believed it was a man's job to protect his women, and not vice versa. He had failed in the past-- he hadn't been able to protect Shannon, Kelly and Kate—but he was dead set it wouldn't happen again. He might no longer be in love with Jenny, but he still loved her. As for Ziva, Gibbs didn't want to even think what losing her would do to him.

There was a knock on the door, and Gibbs stood up, gun in hand.

"Who is it?" he asked, back pressed against the wall.

"It's me, Probie. Now open this damned door before I return to Mexico," a rough voice answered.

Gibbs smirked, and pulled the door open, letting his old boss and friend inside.

"Hello Mike," he said, putting his gun away and briefly embracing the other man.

Mike grunted in response and, just like the investigator he was still was, he walked straight to the table and looked at the photos spread on it.

"Have these anything to do with the fact I'm not on my beach enjoying my _siesta_?"

Gibbs nodded and sat on the table, while Mike lightened one of his cigarettes.

"Do you remember Special Agent William Decker?"

Mike shook his head. "Not much, just the name. He was hired the year I retired. Why? Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"He's dead- and I'm next, unless I kill them first," Gibbs paused a moment. "I need your help, Mike."

"You know I'm always ready to help you, Gunny, but why me? Can't you ask to your team for help? They are all good guys, and your dark-eyed Israeli beauty is much more lethal then me," Mike said, leaning forward.

"I don't want to involve my people or NCIS, Mike. In a way, I'm trying to protect them," Gibbs answered, looking briefly out the window.

"Protect them from what?"

Gibbs returned to focus on his friend. He had the right to know everything since he was going to put his life at risk for him.

"Ten years ago, I spent time in Europe with another agent-"

"Let me guess, your redheaded Director? You told me you were partners."

"Yes, it was Jenny with me."

"I take it you two weren't sightseeing…"

"We were, but the sights we were looking for weren't on any tourist map," Gibbs grimaced.

"The op?"

"We were trying to infiltrate a Russian spy ring, and Decker was our contact agent there. We had all agree that the name Oshimaida would be the code word we were to use in the event our cover was compromised."

"And was it?"

"I always thought we got out clean, but today, at Decker's funeral, this man," Gibbs tapped one of the photos, "asked for Mr. Oshimaida- he was quite insistent about finding him."

"Coincidence," Mike shrugged and blew some smoke.

"I don't believe in coincidences, Mike, you know it."

"Yeah, I know…" Mike sighed, "I taught you not to."

"Only Decker, Jenny and I knew that name. Whoever this man was, he heard that name from Decker, and he would have used it only if he thought he was about to be killed," Gibbs said, standing up and walking to the window to look outside. "The coroner said Decker died of a heart attack, but there are many ways to simulate one. My gut tells me Decker was trying to get me and Jenny a message."

"You're next?"

"Yeah. Whoever this guy is, he believes one of us is Oshimaida and I need to find and neutralize him before he finds me…or Jenny."

Mike just nodded and smashed the cigarette in the ashtray. "You can count on me, Jethro. Where do you plan to start?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: a heartfelt thank you to my reviewers!

--------

Gibbs and Mike went to Decker's house in the LA suburbs. The place seemed desert and it was easy to pick the front door lock and slip inside.

"You're good, Probie. I taught you well," Mike commented as they checked the house, guns in hand.

"Taught, Mike? As you once said me, you didn't teach me. I watched and learned."

Mike grunted and put down his gun. "We're talking a risk coming here," he said, looking out the window as Gibbs moved to the living room.

"LEOs may have missed something; after all they weren't investigating for a murder."

"I doubt Decker's killer left behind a calling card, Probie."

"No, but maybe, if he was here, he left something behind. Or Decker did. He was a pro," Gibbs replied, saying a laptop on a low table. He hoped Decker hadn't left any message in the computer, because that would mean having to ask for Abby or McGee's help and he really didn't want to involve them in this anymore than he absolutely needed to do.

"Yeah," Mike commented, sarcastic, "he just got little careless in his retirement."

"As you did, Mike?" Gibbs teased, just to see his friend's indignant expression, but a sudden, soft noise made him spring up from the couch he was sitting on.

Moving in perfect coordination, the two men passed to the nearby room, a study, and Mike pointed to a closed wardrobe. Gibbs nodded and moved in position, gun in front of him as his friend opened the closet.

Their tension decreased as they saw a blond haired woman sitting on the pavement, her face hidden against her bent knees. She raised her tear-streaked, scared face to look at them and Gibbs recognized her.

"Sasha," he murmured, putting away his gun as Mike did the same. "Calm down, we aren't going to hurt you."

Sasha studied him, looking so very young and desperate. "How do you know my name?" A pause the, "You were at the funeral."

"That's right," Gibbs smiled, offering her a hand to help her to stand up. "William was an old friend. We're here to help."

"Help with what?" the young woman asked, but Gibbs could see worry in her eyes.

"Sasha, we don't think William's death was...natural. And my gut tells me you don't either," Gibbs said seriously, staring at her.

She sat on a chair and seemed unsure on what she should say or not.

"Sasha," Gibbs insisted, posing a hand on her arm, "if there's something you need to tell me..."

"William never said anything specific," Sasha finally said slowly, "just that I was to deliver a message if anything was to ever happen to him." She turned on her chair and picked a tick book from a nearby bookshelf .

"To who?"

"Jenny Shepard, Director, NCIS," Sasha gave him a simple paper bookmark. On one side Decker had written Jenny's name and office, while on the other there was the address of a diner in the Mojave desert and a key taped to it.

Gibbs felt his guts twist. This was one time he had really wished to be wrong, but Sasha's words and the key Decker had wanted Jenny to get had brushed away any hope he still had.

"You know her?" Sasha asked, referring to name written on the bookmark.

"Unfortunately," Mike answered and Gibbs threw him a dirty glare.

The agent returned to concentrate on Sasha. "We'll deliver the message," he said kindly.

"William wanted me to tell her that he had some sort of...insurance policy. I think he called it so."

"Where?"

"In his place, out in the desert. An old diner," Sasha's eyes filled again with tears. "He was going to start fixing it up next month. He said Jenny would know where to look."

"This the address?" Mike pointed to the bookmark.

"Yeah."

Gibbs and Mike exchanged a gaze. They needed to go to the diner—quickly. But first…"Sasha?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you have family?" Gibbs enquired.

"Not in Los Angeles. In Nevada," the young woman answered, perplexed.

"Good. Go there. Now," Gibbs urged her, because he knew Decker's killer could and would search for her in order to get information about 'Mr. Oshimaida'.

"I-I don't have a car," Sasha protested.

"Here, these are the keys of my rental. Go to your family, now," Gibbs pressed on, leaning on her until she nodded and he was sure she would do what he said, then turned around and walked away, followed by Mike.

**-----**

They used Mike's rented car to travel to Decker's diner and, after fighting and losing for who was going to drive, Gibbs settled on the passenger's seat, checking the map they had bought when they had refuelled.

His cell rang and checking the caller ID, Gibbs saw it was Abby.

"Got something for me, Abs?" he said without preambles.

"Are you in hurry, my silver haired fox? Stupid question, you're always in hurry," Abby replied.

In any other day, Gibbs would have loved to banter with her, but not today. "Name, Abby."

"Viggo Drantyev. Viggo as in Mortensen. And Drantyev as in...Drantyev."

Gibbs searched his memory, then shook his head. He had never heard that name before.

"Background?"

"Um, he flew in from Moscow three days ago, solo. Rented a car, checked in to the Excelsior Hotel, and then he checked out early this morning," Abby reported, sounded as dissatisfied as Gibbs was feeling.

"That's not background," he pointed out.

"That's all I have. Viggo Drantyev didn't exist until three days ago-- and he doesn't anymore."

"Burn-alias," Gibbs commented, exchanging a meaningful look with Mike.

"Yeah, and a damn good one," Abby confirmed. "Totally untraceable, which is impressive these days. Whoever this guy is, he must have friends in high places."

"Anything else, Abs?"

"Nope, Gibbs. You want McGee to put out a BOLO?"

"McGee? You told him?" Gibbs growled.

"I had to! I needed his help to find this guy…the photos you sent me sucked, Gibbs, and I could not do much with them and-"

"Abby…"

"Anyway, I swore him to secrecy. He didn't say a thing."

"Good. I need no BOLO. I want you to erase the search," Gibbs ordered.

Trough the phone speaker he heard Abby type something and when she said, her tone questioning "What search, oh great one?"

Gibbs smiled weakly. "Good job, Abby. Now I must go; I'll call later." He shut the phone and turned to look at Mike.

"So, this Drantyev hits town-" Gibbs began..

"- and before sundown, Decker is dead," Mike completed. "Not enough for a conviction—but enough for me, Probie. Who do you think is this bastard?"

"I don't know, Mike," Gibbs answered with a sigh, "but I think he is connected to someone we pissed off during that mission in Europe ..."

"Your gut?"

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah."

"Then it has to be so. Your gut has never been wrong, even when you're schlepping behind me on your first months as agent," Mike patted his hand in a rare show of affection and then returned to concentrate on the road.


	3. Chapter 3

As far as Gibbs was concerned, Decker's diner was located in the middle of nowhere. The only things visible around it were cactuses, a solitary tree here and there, dry bushes and dirt, dirt and even more dirt.

Gibbs couldn't understand what Decker had seen in that forsaken place and why he wanted to fix a diner drivers would found only if they got lost.

Using the key they had got from Sasha, Gibbs opened the front door and he and Mike entered inside the deserted building.

The air was stale and the floor and furniture where covered by dust and webs, but it was a nice place, large enough to be used as a ballroom while a country band played on a small stage set against the wall.

The chairs and stools were turned upside down on the tables to protect them from the dirt that filtered everywhere and the counter running along the wall was full of boxes.

Without needing to say anything to each other, Gibbs and Mike went in separate ways and assessed their surroundings.

The deadbolt was a Schlage, same for the front door. Wood-framed, stucco exterior, lath-and-plaster walls on the front, stone in the rear. Both Gibbs and Mike were appeased knowing the building would offer a good cover should they need it—and the two men felt it was highly probable they would need it. If Decker's killer knew about his insurance policy, then he would certainly find that place…and them.

Gibbs walked toward the pile of boxes near the counter and knelt. He used his knife to break the tape sealing on of them and looked inside. It contained only some old trophies, so Gibbs moved to the next box.

"I'll help you, Probie, if you tell me what I must look for," Mike said after a while

Gibbs stood up and brushed his dusty hands on his jeans, looking annoyed at the row of boxes he had opened without finding anything interesting in them. "I don't know what we are looking for, Mike. Decker said Jenny would know where to look—not me. However, he was aware that someone was after him—and he knew why."

"Your mystery op in Europe ," Mike commented.

"Yep. Any useful insurance policy would contain names. Targets. Dates. Operational blueprints …" Gibbs said, hand on hips as he scanned the diner in search of a clue. His eyes stopped on the wall behind the counter, which was covered by framed pictures. "…photos…" he whispered, eyes flashing.

"We got plenty of those," Mike quipped, as they moved toward the wall to have a better look at the photos.

Gibbs walked behind the counter and took down some frames. He studied the pictures and the dates written under them and frowned. There was something strange in those numbers, they made him thought of the numeric codes Decker used in Europe to communicate him and Jenny where, how and when certain shoots of their targets had been taken.

"These dates are wrong," Gibbs said aloud, carrying the frames to a nearby table. He sat down and took the notepad and pen he always carried in his pocket. Mike sat near him, watching him expectantly.

"This is Decker's retirement party in 2007," Gibbs said and pointed at the date written beneath: 5/3/78, which he copied on his notepad. He took another frame and showed Mike the banner that appeared in the background of the shoot. It said 'Crime Analysts Conference 2002', but the date scribbled beneath read 7/13/99. Gibbs copied these numbers too and repeated the process with other suspicious photos.

"This is some kind of code," he finally said, tapping the notepad with the pen.

"Bank routing number?" Mike suggested.

"Too long for a cash account."

"Safe deposit box?"

"Maybe. And if it is, where is this safe located? Damn, I really don't want to bring my people in this anymore I already have," Gibbs lowered his head and Mike patted his shoulder.

"I understand your concerns, Gunny, but as much as you don't like it, you might have no other option but ask help to your team and Director…"

"I know Mike, but won't call then in unless I've exhausted all my other options."

"Why?"

"'Cause I don't want them to get involved in something that doesn't concern them. Last time my team was caught in between in the personal vendetta a dirtbag had against me, one of my agents was killed. Her name was Kate and she took a bullet in her head because the bastard knew what had happened to Shannon and Kelly and wanted to make me suffer by taking down the women closer to me."

"I see."

Gibbs returned to stare at the code as Mike stood up and walked around the diner.

"Hey, Probie! I found a radio! Do you mind if I turn it on? Maybe it will catch some Mexican station…"

Gibbs shook his head. He was used to think even with a TV or radio turned on, as long as it was not blaring loud as Abby used to keep the music in her lab.

"…_a mysterious death upset the tourists in Santa Monica 's …Sasha Gordon, 22, was found dead on a beach. LAPD is still investigating, but it looks like that she broke her neck in a fall…"_

Mike switched off the radio and looked at Gibbs, looking as upset as the younger man.

"I told Sasha to leave town," Gibbs whispered, angered by that useless death.

"She probably went back to her apartment to grab a few things and Viggo found her," Mike commented, lightening another cigarette.

"Then we have to presume she talked and told him about us, about this place—and about Decker's insurance policy. Which mean he's gonna be on his way here."

"If we leave now..." Mike suggested, arching his eyebrow and gesturing with his hand.

"I'm staying, Mike, but I'll understand if you want to go," Gibbs stopped in front of his friend. "You have my goddaughter to look after, and you've already done so much for me. You don't have to risk your life for me again."

Mike Franks moved so fast that Gibbs was not able to duck and avoid the hand connecting not too gently with the back of his head.

"Stop with the bullshits, Probie," Mike hissed, grabbing his arm. "We are Marines and we don't leave men behind! If you stay here, I stay too—and don't you dare to feel guilty! This is my decision, my responsibility. I'm doing this because I want to—and because you would do the same for me. And now let's put an end to this emotional crap and let's get ready for Viggo."

Gibbs nodded, just once, but it was enough to convince Mike to let go of his arm.

Gibbs walked toward the window and looked outside between the half open binds, staring at the desert surrounding them.

Then he slowly turned and meeting his friend's eyes he said, his tone loaded with deadly determination, "Yeah Mike, we better get ready, 'cause whatever this is, it ends here and it ends now—no matter how."

------------------

A/N: before I got flamed another time regarding this detail, as far as I know, in the series it is not explicity said Franks was NOT a Marine. We know from a 'Hiatus' flashbacks he fought in Vietnam, thus he _could have been_ a Marine. I like to think this is the reason he and Gibbs bonded so quickly and Franks let Gibbs read how Hernandez was hiding.

As for Jenny's role in this story, as you can see I'm following the canon pretty closely, just reversing her and Gibbs' roles, so she will make her entry in Part Two of the story.

Finally, just in case you have not checked my profile, English is not my mother tongue. So please, forgive me if now and then I throw in some "Ziva-ism". Maybe you are not aware that most of your sayings/figure of speech cannot be found on a English/Italian dictionary and can be learned only living in the USA or having a constant contact with American-speaking people, which, alas, is not possible for me.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: to the_yawner (): I've written a note at the end of chapter 3 regarding what you wrote in your review. You might want to check it.

to ... (): As I said at the end of chapter 3, this story closely follows the canon. If you think back to JD part 1, you will see it was mostly Jenny & Franks centric, while JD part 2 featured Gibbs and the team. Now, a story can follow more POVs, but I chose to tell the story from only two: Gibbs (part 1) and Jenny (part 2, which begins with this chapter).

Regarding the matter of language, what can I say? I'm writing in a language that is not my mother tongue. Learning to speak or write another language is not just a matter of grammar. One must learn to think in that language...which I do, btw. I write directly in English. However there is a problem that isn't easy to overcome: speech, writing and thinking patterns are influenced by the patterns/rules of the language we learned to think with, which is Italian for me. I try to correct that, but I sometime slip...and all I can do is to keep on trying. I have an American betareader to check my stories before I post them, but nobody is perfect and she too can make mistakes.

There is an episode where Tony is talking to the phone with some woman (not a girlfriend, a clerk or secretary) and salutes her with "Mio amore", which is the literal translation of "my love". While grammatically correct, "mio amore" doesn't fit the tone of this conversation. We would use it in a love declaration or something solemn, but not to salute an almost stranger. Tony's correct salute should have been "amore mio". Yes, just reversing the order of the words would have completely changed the tone of the line, making it more appropriate for the context. Just a little example to show that learning a language is much more complex than just learning its grammar. :)

That said, I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the story. Even if I chose to stick closely to the plot of the episode, this second part offered me more opportunities to add things not seen on screen.

**Part Two **

_Mojave Desert, 20 May 2008_

The back, bullet-proof SUV advanced along the dusty road, the driver's eyes often checking the navigator screen in order not to get lost in that seemingly never-changing landscape made of cactuses and sand.

Behind a pair of sunglasses that masked her reddened eyes, Jennifer Shepard, NCIS Director, stared at the desert that stretched around her as far as her eyes could go, but she saw nothing of it.

Her mind was reliving the phone call she had gotten the previous evening, the phone call that had shattered her life as much as Ducky's diagnosis had done a few months before…

…_Jenny was sitting at the desk in her study, eating the dinner Noemi had prepared for her. As she chewed the chicken salad, Jenny re-arranged her stationery and saw the letter she had started writing a few evenings before, but she hadn't gone further than "Dear Jethro". It wasn't easy to write a letter for the man one loves knowing he would read it only after one's death._

_Her phone cell rang and she sighed as she reached out to take it. She frowned when she saw it was Leon Vance. What did he wanted at that hour? _

_Jenny switched her phone open. Not answering wasn't an option, not only because she was the agency director and she had to answer when her assistant director called, but because, long ago, Gibbs had drilled into her rule number three: never been unreachable._

"_Jenny Shepard. What can I do for you, Leon?"_

"_Director, we have a big problem here."_

"_So big it can't wait till tomorrow?"_

"_No, Jenny, it can't."_

_Jenny sighed inwardly as she relaxed in her armchair. "What is it, Leon?"_

"_Three hours ago the San Diego office got an anonymous phone call, reporting there had been a bit of trouble in a diner in the Mojave Desert, and that a NCIS agent was involved in it. We checked the address the caller gave us and it turned out the diner belonged to the recently deceased, former NCIS agent William Decker. I believe you knew him…"_

"_Yes, I did. We worked together years ago—but go on, please. Define the trouble we are talking about," Jenny commented, mildly curious. Decker's funeral had been the previous morning and Jethro had gone to LA to attend it—on her request. As things were, Jethro should have landed back in DC a couple of hours before and Jenny was sure he would have come to see her if something unusual had happened. _

_Or wouldn't he? _

_Her relationship with Jethro – both personal and working -- was quite strained at the moment, especially because he suspected she had killed La Grenouille, no matter what Trent Kort had said to Fornell._

_Jenny's stomach churned as a sense of dread washed over her. _

_Did Decker's death had anything to do with Leon's 'trouble'? She, like Gibbs, didn't believe in coincidences and it only increased her anxiety._

"_Gunfight," Vance said in answer to her question._

"_How many people involved?"_

"_Five."_

"_God…and the agent involved?" Jenny held her breath, although, deep inside, she already knew the answer. Otherwise, why would Leon being so reticent she practically had to pull the words from his lips?_

"_Gibbs."_

"_C-condition?"_

_Silence._

"_Vance!" she all but yelled, unable contain herself._

"_I'm sorry, Jenny. There was nothing we could do for him when we arrived."_

_Jenny slumped against the back of the armchair and closed her eyes, squeezing her eyelids to stop her tears from falling._

_Jethro._

_Dead._

_It wasn't possible…he couldn't be dead…Gibbs couldn't die…_

"_Director? Jenny?!"_

_Gathering her strength, Jenny opened her eyes and took a deep breath. "Leon," she said in a voice that barely recognized as her own, "Give me the diner's address. I'll fly there with the first available plane." She expected Vance to protest, but he wisely refrained and gave her the requested information. "Now I must go; I've things to arrange. Continue your investigation. I'll see you tomorrow."_

_Jenny ended the call, put down the phone and stared ahead for a long time, seeing images of Jethro flash in front of her eyes in a sort of a slide-show…smiling as they dined in a cosy brasserie in Paris; limping at her side as they toured Positano; working on his boat; teaching her how to love bourbon; making love in a hut in Serbia as the snow fell; sleeping in their bed as she wrote her "Dear John" letter because he wasn't part of her five-point-plan; looking stunned when Tom Morrow introduced her as the new NCIS director; walking in the bullpen with a cup of coffee in his hand; leaning over a suspect until they spilled their guts; looking so desperate and broken when he cried for his dead family after he lost his memory; staring at her curiously as she struggled not to laugh at the sight of his ridiculous moustaches; walking in her study as she confronted La Grenouille…_

_Jenny closed her eyes, stopping the flood of images and memories as she struggled to breath past the sobs that shook her. She couldn't let her grief overwhelm her. Not yet. Not now. _

_Now she had a job to do. _

_Steeling her resolve, Jenny picked up her phone and dialled DiNozzo's number…_

Jennifer Shepard returned to the present, and blinked her eyes. Talking to Jethro's team had been one of the hardest things she had ever had to do.

She had summoned all of them, Abby and Ducky included, back to NCIS, and had given them the news in her office.

They had all been devastated and then, each of them, had reacted to the pain in his or her way.

Tony had gone rigid like a stone, but his jaws had twitched with tension as his eyes had filled with tears he had refused to shed. Tim had stood there, with his mouth open as if he wanted to say something but didn't know how to make out words, his eyes very bright. Abby had thrown herself in Ducky's arms and sobbed her pain against his chest, as he silently cried with his face buried into her hair. Ziva, instead, had walked to the closest wall and hit it with her fist. Again, and again, and again, as if the pain to her hand could stop the one to her heart.

Jenny had intervened to stop her before she could break any bone, and she had been taken aback by look in her friend's eyes. It had been the same gaze Ziva's had had when she had heard her sister Tali had been killed in a terrorist attack, a mixture of raw pain and murderous fury.

Afterward, when everyone had regained some control other their emotions-- at least as much as it was possible -- Jenny had announced she would fly to Los Angeles in a couple hours. The team had asked to go with her, but she had shaken her head.

"No, I need you here. We must investigate what happened and why. I need you to work as well as I know you can do—as well as Gibbs taught you to. Can I count on you?" she had asked.

"Yes," team Gibbs had answered in unison, determination set on their tired and distraught faces.

Jenny had then told them to go to home and return later, but when she had left the office to catch her plane, she had seen all of them down in the bullpen, sleeping on the floor or at their desks. The sight had pulled a smile from her, but then her eyes had watered again, because she knew Jethro too would have smiled upon seeing them…

The car left the main road to turn into a private one and pulled up by a low, light green building. Melvin rushed to open her door and helped her to step onto the sandy ground.

Jenny looked around, seeing two NCIS agents carry boxes out of the diner. She was about to stop one of them, when Leon Vance stepped out of the building.

"Director," he said, approaching her.

"Leon."

"I'm sorry, Jenny," he said as they shook hands. She just nodded at looked at the diner's open door, trying to find the strength to go inside.

"Bodies were picked up last night, they are their way to San Diego ," Vance said, seemingly understanding her hesitation.

"No. I want them sent to Washington," Jenny replied. "I want my people to work on this case."

"I can send the shooters' bodies if you really insist, but not Gibbs'."

Jenny opened her mouth to protest, but Vance was quicker. "Jenny, I know there have been some hard feelings between us, but I'm on your side now. Gibbs is in a…very bad shape and I know you, his team and Doctor Mallard were all very close to him. Let us do the autopsy here, and remember him like he was…"

Jenny felt a lump constrict her throat, so she nodded with her head. It was the right choice, for all of them, but especially for Ducky. She would spare him the pain of having to open up his best friend.

After taking a few deep breaths, Jenny calmed down enough to walk inside the diner.

The first thing she registered was the sweetish smell of blood in the air. Then she lowered her eyes and saw the many blood stains scattered on the floor. Yellow markers had been posed near each stain and the closest one had the number 26 on it, but Jenny's eyes stopped at once on a marker with the name "Gibbs" on it. It marked a large blood stain and she had to bit her lower lip to prevent herself from crying again.

Her eyes locked on Jethro's blood, Jenny only half listened as Vance described her the dynamic of the gunfight. She didn't really care to hear how Jethro defended himself as a fury—she knew he would have fought until he had a breath – or enough blood – inside his body. All she cared about was to know why the only man she had ever loved had died in what forsaken place.

Jenny walked to the table where several specimen jars, each of them with a bullet or a shell casing inside, were lined along with five weapons, all sporting a tag to identify who had used them.

"He was outnumbered," Vance said at the end of his report, as if he thought Gibbs needed a justification for having been killed, "four to one."

"I think you got to check your math, Leon ," Jenny commented.

"What?"

She pointed at the weapons and jars she had been examining. "There are four .45 calibre shell casings and no .45," she answered, before turning to look at the door. "Somebody walked  
out of here alive."

Jenny marched out the diner and looked right and left. Then pointed at the sand near the building. "There, do you see those tire marks? Did your team park a car in that spot?"

Vance shook his head, "I'm not sure. I'll have to ask to my men."

"Do it, because if they didn't, that marks belong to the fifth man's car."

Vance nodded, "All right."

"Do it soon, Leon . I want to have an answer when I return."

"Return from where?"

"From the diner we saw two miles behind us. I've not eaten anything since last evening."

_And I need to eat before I can take my pills_, Jenny thought but didn't say as he boarded her car.


	5. Chapter 5

Fifteen minutes later Jenny was sipping a cup of tea sitting at a table, when someone stopped by and cast a shadow over her.

Thinking it might be an agent Vance had sent to alert her about something, she slowly raised her head—and found herself staring at Mike Franks' worn face.

"Do you mind if I join you?" the older man said, sitting down on the bench in front of her before she could answer.

Jenny saw Melvin walk toward her, but she shook her head and gestured with her hand, indicating her bodyguard should return to sit down.

"So," she said, turning toward Franks, "let me guess, you are the fifth man that walked away from that carnage."

Franks just nodded, and sipped from the cup he had carried with him.

"Damn it!" Jenny exclaimed, hitting the table with her hand. "Why did you walk out of there unharmed while Jethro died?!"

"Are you accusing me of leaving him to face those bastards alone?" Franks hissed, leaning forward. "Because if you are, then I have to say Probie died protecting someone and that someone wasn't me!"

Jenny shook her head confused, "Who?"

"You, Madame Director. He died to protect _you_."

Jenny leant forward, "Protecting me from who?" she whispered, stricken by the idea Jethro might have sacrificed himself for her.

"You tell me. Probie called me two days ago. Said he needed some help, but he didn't elaborate. When I arrived here, told me it could be something connected to one of your ops."

"My ops?" Jenny didn't understand.

"Europe."

"Jethro and I worked together on several operations in Europe."

"Well, this one involved Decker too," Franks said, sipping more of his tea. "Probie told me that at Decker's funeral a guy named Viggo came looking for a man. Mr. Oshimaida."

Jenny felt blood leave upon hearing that name and risked being overwhelmed my the memories it stirred.

Franks tilted his head, looking intently at her. "I guess you remember it."

Jenny nodded, and started talking slowly, her nervous fingers playing with the saucer of her cup.

"Paris, 1999. Oshimaida was the code word we would have used should our cover been compromised."

"Yeah. Probie thought Decker resurrected it. When they found him, instead of giving you up, he sent you a warning. Bought you guys some time."

"Not enough," Jenny commented bitterly, as her mind worked frantically and a sense of dread fell over her. Was it possible it was all connected with what she had done or, more accurately, not done in Paris? With the deception that had burned a hole inside her and had ultimately been one of the reasons for she had left Jethro?

"Probie knew what he was getting into. His last stand was to protect you," Franks said, gently.

"But who protected him, Franks? Who?" Jenny hissed, her anger not directed at him, but at herself.

Because it was all her fault. Back in Paris, she should have told Jethro she hadn't been able to pull the trigger; that the look in her target's eyes had paralyzed her. But she hadn't. She had been afraid to disappoint both her mentor and her lover-- and now he had paid the price of her mistakes.

Jenny lowered her head in shame. The man in front of her had just lost the closest thing to a son he ever had and yet he was there, trying to comfort her in that brusque way of his, even if he knew or suspected it was her fault if Jethro had died. She felt she didn't deserve his understanding.

"In 1999 we were set out to kill targets in Paris. Jethro did his part…but I didn't. When the moment come…I wasn't able to do it," Jenny began softly.

"But you told him you had completed your task…" Franks surmised.

"Yes."

"He believed you and didn't verify you kill," Franks frowned. "I thought the Marines taught him better."

"He trusted me—and he believed in me," Jenny pressed, unable to hear him criticize Jethro.

"So he thought you left Paris clean—and kept on thinking so until Viggo appeared at Decker's funeral. "

"Yes." Jenny looked out of the window, fighting the urge to vomit. Then she turned again toward Franks and asked, "What happened in the diner?"

The older man closed his eyes for a moment. "I was outdoor, in the back, drawing water by a cistern. I didn't hear them arrive, but I saw 'em going in by the side door. I ran back. Too late. Probie took down all of them before the end. I just put a bullet in a couple of heads to avoid they might pull it through and talk."

"I see," Jenny whispered, as her mind returned to the diner and to the smell of blood in the air.

"Thank you for talking to me, Mike," she said after a while. "But now you should return in Mexico. Your car left tire tracks behind, and Vance is bound to find you sooner or later."

"I will, but first I have to give you this."

Franks pushed a piece of paper with a series of numbers written on it across the table.

"What is it?" Jenny asked after looking at it.

"We don't know. Decker's girlfriend told us he had an 'insurance policy'; probably he knew you had not left Paris clean or he just suspected it. Whatever the case, he knew this might not be over. These numbers," and Franks tapped the piece of paper, "were coded in photos."

"The way we did it back then."

"We burned the original and that's the only copy," Franks said, grabbing her arm as she was about to stand up. "Use it well, Jenny."

"I will, Mike, I will."

Franks let go of her arm and Jenny stood up, walking quickly toward the exit, with Melvin and her driver behind.

Once outdoor, she took several deep breaths to regain her composure. The guilt overwhelming her was not something she could afford if she wanted to do her job at the best of her abilities.

So, with a supreme effort, she banished Jenny the woman to a corner of her mind, and called Director Shepard on the forefront. Because Jenny the woman was compassionate, but Director Shepard could be ruthless—and she needed to be so if she wanted to catch the woman who was behind Jethro's murder. And once she caught her, Jenny would do what she should have done in Paris all those years ago and put a bullet between her eyes.

-----------------------------------------------

A/N: I know Franks had a son, but he never interacted much with him because he never knew about him until a few days before the poor guy died. So Jenny -- who might not know or not remember Franks' son-- can be justified if she thinks Gibbs was the closest thing to a son Franks had. After all it is only her opinion.


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing Jenny registered when she stepped in the bullpen of the NCIS headquarters was the almost unreal silence that reigned in the room.

The agents on duty were working as hard as usual, but it looked like they were taking extra care not to make noise while typing or going trough folders or checking video feeds. No one was talking and, certainly, no one was laughing or joking to relieve the stress as it often happened.

Thus it wasn't surprising the _bing_ of the elevator echoed as loud as a thunder in that silence, and that all the heads in the room turned to look at her.

Jenny noticed the expressions of some of the agents closer to her and saw the hope on their faces.

She realized with a pang that, while the news of Jethro's death had obviously spread, some agents didn't really believe to it and were hoping she would confirm it was not true- but it was and as the agents looked at her expression, Jenny saw the hope die on their faces.

Leaving the elevator, Jenny walked to the central desks. Tony, Ziva and McGee stood up as she approached, but she doubted they had nothing new to tell her, since they had talked just after her flight from LA had landed.

The shooters in the diner had been identified. Three of them had a list of prior felonies in the LA area, and had been found with $5,000 cash on them. They were clearly local hires. The fourth one instead, had used a burn-alias to fly from Moscow into DC, finally into LA. His named had been Viggo Drantyev and it was the same man Gibbs had seen at Decker's funeral and asked Abby to get an ID of.

The team had asked Washington-Dulles TSA to pull every piece of security footage on Drantyev-- the gate, customs, baggage claim—and to send it to NCIS, but so far they hadn't yet received the tapes.

As for the code Franks had given her, McGee had no idea of what it was and was still working on it.

So Jenny wasn't surprised when at her query, "Any news?" the three agents answered with a "No."

Jenny nodded then observed the three faces staring at her and looking as lost as she felt. "There is nothing more you can do for this evening. Go home and sleep."

Tony, Ziva and McGee protested, but she silenced them with a raised hand.

"Tony, Ziva, it's past 19.00. You know as well as me that the chances of Dulles TSA sending the tapes today are nil. It's useless for you to stay here and wait for them," Jenny watched as they lowered their heads and nodded, albeit reluctantly.

She then turned to McGee, "Tim, you look so tired I believe you probably have troubles to remember your birth date. You'll never discover what that code is if you can barely keep your eyes open."

"Go home," Jenny urged them again and they finally obeyed, switching off their computers and gathering their stuff. They came around their desks, but instead of walking toward the elevator, they just stood there, looking at her.

"And you, Director? Will you go home?" Tony asked, staring at her, a challenging look in his eyes.

"Yes, Agent DiNozzo, I'll go home too," Jenny answered him stonily, before walking toward the stairs leading to her office, _but I doubt I'll get much rest_…_sleep is for the innocents, and I'm not one_.

**-----**

Jenny was sitting in her office, a glass of bourbon in her hand. She remembered the first time Jethro had made her taste it and the face she had made when she had realized the glass he was offering her, wasn't a glass but an empty jar. If she closed her eyes, Jenny could still smell the sawdust floating in his basement as her fist sip of bourbon had set her stomach afire.

It was a welcome reprieve from the sweetish smell of blood that had been haunting her for the whole day.

As a field agent, Jenny had seen many a crime scene, and while she had never gotten used to blood and death, she had learned to cope with them. But the blood splattered on the floor in that diner had been Jethro's, and it made everything different.

Jenny had still to wrap her mind around the fact he was dead. Jethro was a legend at NCIS and legends don't die.

A part of her was expecting to see him burst in her office at any moment, slamming the door against the wall and wanting to know why she was still there at 23.00, moping and doing nothing constructive.

The other part was hoping to see him walk in at a more leisured pace, a bag with dinner in one hand, a bottle of wine and glasses in the other, a smirk on his handsome face as he 'invited' her to dine with him.

Jenny smiled with nostalgia. They had been so close during her first months as director, but it had changed after Jethro had been caught in an explosion and subsequently retired.

During Jethro's stint in Mexico, La Grenouille had resurfaced, and for the first time Jenny had had the means to hunt down the man responsible of her father's death. So she had put La Grenouille under surveillance and sent Tony on an undercover mission, with the task to approach and get close to Jeanne Benoit, in the hope she would take them to her father.

When Jethro had returned, Jenny had not said anything about Tony's mission, but he had felt something was amiss with his senior agent and correctly guessed it had something to do with Jenny's interest for "The Frog". Her secrecy and deception and what he perceived as lack of trust in him had distanced them.

However, no matter how upset or angry Jethro was because she was using the agency and his agents to pursue a personal vendetta, he had always been at her side, supporting her, covering for her, stopping her – or at least trying to – from committing something foolish. And now, now he had died to protect her, loyal till the end—and Jenny couldn't bear it, because his death had been such a terrible waste.

She was already condemned and getting down in a gunfight would have been a better way to go. A more merciful way, Ducky would have probably said as he examined her body.

But Jenny didn't feel like she deserved mercy, not after what he had done to Tony, La Grenouille and now Jethro. And so she would endure the pain that had already started until her last breath.

_After all, what was the pain of the body compared to the agony of the soul? _She mused, as she swallowed the glass of bourbon in just one gulp.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning Jenny stopped midway down the stairs to look down at the office. While the atmosphere wasn't as oppressively silent as the previous evening, it was still loaded with shock and grief.

Team Gibbs was back at work. They had all been in before Jenny returned after catching some hours of rest at home and she took a moment to observe them. They were all in the central area of the bullpen, even the unofficial members Ducky and Abby, who were sitting behind Jethro's desk.

The ME was reading a thick file, perhaps the reports of the autopsies done in San Diego, while Abby was slumped over the desk, her arms surrounding something. Jethro's reading glasses, which, as usual, he had left behind when he had hurried to catch the plane to LA.

Tony was pacing and talking to himself as if he was pondering something. Jenny noticed that while he had stepped quickly in his role of team leader, this time there were no signs he was trying to imitate Gibbs. There were no coffee cups on his desk and no polo shirts and jackets on his shoulders.

McGee was typing, apparently calm, but he was biting his lower lip as he worked, and he stuttered when he replied to something Tony said.

As for Ziva, after studying her for a few minutes, Jenny couldn't help but feel worried for her. She looked emotionless, her eyes lifeless, her tone completely flat when she talked with the others.

Jenny could see Ziva kept looking at her left hand and touching the thin, onyx band she wore on her middle finger. Ziva had started wearing it the previous autumn, but no one knew if it was just a piece of jewellery or if it had a meaning or if someone gave it to her, no matter how many times Tony had tried to discover it.

Then suddenly Ziva stood up, pushed back the chair and burst from the desk toward the bathroom, her face pale.

"Ziva!" Ducky exclaimed rising to his feet and following her with his concerned gaze.

"Stay there, Ducky," Jenny called, coming down the stairs. "I'll go to see her."

Ducky nodded and sat down as Jenny crossed the bullpen. When she entered the women bathroom she was welcome by the sound of retching.

Ziva hadn't bothered to close the stall door, so Jenny had no trouble in finding her and wrapping the younger woman into her arms as her friend knelt on the floor and started weeping uncontrollably.

Her sobs weren't those of someone who had lost their beloved mentor. They were the cry of pain of someone who had lost their reason to live and weren't sure how they could go on living. It was then that Jenny suddenly realized Ziva had loved Jethro as much more than a friend and a boss with whom she had much in common.

The door of the bathroom opened, followed by approaching steps and then Tony's concerned face peeked into the stall.

Jenny meet his eyes, and motioned him to say nothing and go away. She knew Ziva would hate to have been seen in that condition. Tony just nodded before walking away, as Jenny kept on offering her silent support to Ziva.

After a while Ziva calmed down and her sobs were replaced by sniffles, and then silence. She shifted her position, loosening Jenny's embrace, and looked around them, probably realizing only in that moment they were sitting on the floor of a bathroom stall.

"Director, I-"

"Shh, Ziva, there is no need to say anything- and don't you dare to apologize or feel bad because you are human," Jenny soothed, squeezing her shoulder gently. "We all broke down after we got the news. Some of us did it in private, some of us did it in public, but we all cried. There is no shame in it."

Ziva's eyes filled again with tears. "I've never felt like this," she whispered, "not even after Tali or Ari died. It hurts so much."

"You loved him, don't you?" Jenny asked softly, although she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

Ziva just nodded and looked down at her ring.

"Jethro gave it to you?"

"Yes."

"For your anniversary?" Jenny tried.

"Yes. We got together after he returned from Mexico," Ziva sniffled, but a small smile appeared on her lips. "He got rid of those awful moustaches because I told him I would never kiss him with that fur on his face."

Jenny nodded, happy Ziva had found the strength to open up a little. She knew people need to express a grief as deep as the one Ziva was feeling. It cannot be contained forever, sooner or later it needs to be released or it eats you from inside and pushes you to commit something foolish.

Silence fell on the two women. Jenny wasn't surprised to discover she wasn't jealous of Ziva. She had always known she and Jethro would never been together again--trust, like a piece of glass cannot be repaired when it's broken- and Ziva was a wonderful person. She was happy Jethro had known love again in the last years of his life, he had deserved it after everything he had suffered.

As for Ziva, she would have learn to live with pain, but in time she would realize the grief of losing Jethro wouldn't make her forget the joy of having him. And maybe, if God was merciful, she would discover her bout of nausea hadn't been caused by the grief she had kept bottled inside her, but by a new life growing inside her and that would help her to fill the void left by Jethro's death.

Ziva moved again. "I must return to my desk now," she said, her voice stronger. "I have a job to do."

"Yes, you have," Jenny replied, letting her go.

They stood up, washed the tears away from their cheeks and returned to the bullpen, side by side.

Jenny was about to open her mouth to ask for a sit-rep when Ducky stood up from Jethro's desk and approached her.

"Yes, Ducky?" she enquired, seeing he wanted to ask her something.

"Director, when do you think the San Diego's office will send us the report of Jethro's autopsy?"

Jenny frowned. "Is not it arrived yet?"

"No, they just sent those of the four shooters," Ducky answered.

"I'll talk to Vance about it, it's all right?"

"Yes, it is. Thank you, Jennifer."

Jenny looked as he returned to sit near Abby, then turned to Tony.

"Anything new to report?"

"Dulles finally sent us the tapes with security footage, Director. McGee is working on them now," Tony answered.

"Let's see them," Jenny said indicating the plasma screen.

"The first three clips show Viggo Drantyev walking through the terminal, passing baggage claim," McGee explained as the images appeared on the screen.

"Pros usually travel light," Tony commented.

"This second footage show him as he exits," McGee went on with his commentary and Jenny pressed her lips in irritation and disappointment, because there was nothing useful in those images. "This last piece is from outside. That is Viggo coming through the door, right there…"

Jenny brightened up because on the screen she saw Viggo direct toward a parked car.

"Cab number and plate, McGee?" she asked.

"On it."

The PC program zoomed on the car plate until the numbers were readable.

"Good," Jenny said, hoping they would finally have something on which they could work on.

The tape began to run again, showing Viggo boarding the car, and then another person exited from the airport and walk toward the car.

Jenny's heart began beating faster as she cried, "Wait!"

McGee froze the tape as Ziva, who was standing at Jenny's side, commented, "Professionals do not share cabs."

"Viggo wasn't travelling alone," Ducky commented as he too joined the group in front of the screen.

"Run it back," Jenny ordered and McGee obeyed.

"McGee, pull up the photos from the funeral!" Abby's voice chirped in.

A photo featuring the profile of a blond woman appeared on the screen. McGee enlarged a screen shot of the woman's face from the security tape and pulled it up near the other.

"That could be the same woman!" Abby exclaimed, but Jenny barely registered what she said.

Because there, in front of her eyes, had appeared the confirmation that she, Jennifer Shepard, was indeed the responsible of Leroy Jethro Gibbs' death.

She would have recognized that face everywhere, even after ten years.

Svetlana Chernitskaya. Her target in Paris-her target now.

Putting on her best poker face, Jenny raised her voice to be heard atop the conversation going on around her.

"Tony!"

"Yes Boss!"

"I need to go; I've to meet the SecNav and I'm already late. I'm not sure how long the meeting will last, but on my return I want to know that woman's identity." She pointed to the screen. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, Director."

She started to walk away then turned around, "And McGee, I need to know what that code means! Ask them for suggestions if you don't have any ideas!"

"Yes, Director."

Jenny nodded, then resumed her walk toward the elevator. She should have given them enough tasks to keep them busy and she also hoped that, by the time they discovered she had never met the SecNav because there was no meeting scheduled, everything would be over.

As Jethro before her, she didn't want to involve the team in this. Whatever the outcome, it was going to be a mess, and she didn't want to drag them down with her.

As it was, Jenny had an idea to find Svetlana Chernitskaya-and she put it in practice at once by going down in the lab and rummaging between the evidence bags until she found what she was looking for: Viggo Drantyev's cell phone. Jenny put it on her pocket, returned to the elevator and pushed the garage level button. She had always thought she would be able to leave the NCIS building undetected if she wanted to-now was time to see if she had been right.

**-----  
**

Entering inside Jethro's house had been easy, even if he had locked it before leaving for LA.

She had chosen to go there because her own house would be the first place where the team would look once they realized what she had done.

Now, sitting at the table of Jethro's scarcely furnished living room, Jenny waited, her eyes fixed on Drantyev's blood stained cell phone, as she willed it to ring-and when it finally did, she was ready.

Jenny didn't hesitate to open the cell phone and say, "Hello."

"Who is this?" a heavily accented, feminine voice answered

"Does it matter? I've got what you want."

"Where's Viggo?"

"Dead. I need you to come see me."

"Who is this?!" the woman asked again.

"Mr Oshimaida," Jenny answered calmly, but her heart was beating fast as she threw her bait.

"I though it was a man. Decker-"

"Decker is dead, but I'm still alive," Jenny said brusquely, "if you want to meet me, this is my address." She gave the address of Jethro's house and then cut off the communication.

So far, so good- but would Svetlana take the bait or would she disappear again?

There was only a way to know it: wait.

And wait Jenny did.


	8. Chapter 8

Jethro's old wall clock had just marked the hour. It was 20.00.

By now, Tony and the others would have started to wonder why Jenny hadn't yet returned from her supposed meeting with SecNav. By now they would have found who Svetlana Chernitskaya was. And by now, they would have made the connection between Jenny, Jethro's operation in Paris in 1999 and Svetlana. Perhaps, by now, they had even discovered Drantyev's phone was missing and understood who had taken it. If it were so, it would be just a matter of time before they found her, even if she had left her cell phone in the NCIS garage.

She could only hope Svetlana would come to visit first.

Jenny stood up, needing to stretch her legs and walked to the nearby bookshelf, where her attention was caught by a series of photos that hadn't been there when she had stayed in the house as Jethro's lover.

She brought the pictures closer to her face to study them better in the scarce light cast by a street lamplight that filtered inside the otherwise dark room. They were photos of Shannon and Kelly, taken in different years judging by Kelly's growing height. They showed mother and daughter working in the garden, horse-riding, decorating the Christmas tree. Another one showed Jethro holding a very tiny Kelly, his handsome face filled with the immense awe, pride, and joy every new parent had to feel when they held their baby in their arms for the first time. The last photo instead, positioned in a way an occasional visitor wouldn't see it, showed Jethro with Ziva. He was behind her, his arms around her waist as she leant back against him, her hands covering his on her belly. They were both smiling, and Jenny wondered idly where the photo had been taken.

Suddenly the floorboards cracked and Jenny whipped her head around. A woman was advancing toward her, her stretched arm pointing a gun at Jenny.

Jenny put down the frame and took a step toward the table…and her own gun. Why had she left it there? It was a probie mistake!

"We meet again Svetlana," Jenny said in greeting.

Svetlana narrowed her eyes as she studied her face.

"I recognize you. Your hair is red now, but you haven't changed much."

Jenny just nodded, as her mind worked fast to find a way out from the mess she was in.

"You cannot be Mr Oshimaida; you were with me when Anatoly was killed. You can't have been the one who killed him." There was confusion on her face, but her gun arm didn't waver.

"No, I wasn't. But tell me, what was Anatoly Zukov to you?"

"Everything."

"Well, Svetlana, Viggo has killed my everything, just as he killed Anatoly," Jenny whispered.

"Is he dead?"

"Yes. Two days ago, in the Mojave desert."

Even in scarce light, Jenny saw Svetlana's eyes flash with triumph. But it was short lived, soon to be replaced by an expression of utter confusion and surprise. Svetlana had just realized - as Jenny herself had done after she had killed La Grenouille - that killing the responsible of your loved ones' death doesn't bring any relief to the pain in your heart, nor it relives the people you lost. It just makes you as much of a murderer as the one you just killed.

Then Svetlana's gaze hardened as she aimed her gun at Jenny's head.

"I couldn't kill you ten years ago. Can you do it now?" Jenny answered quietly, staring straight into the other woman's eyes, and engaging a silent battle of will with her-- a battle Jenny realized she had lost when Svetlana's fingers started flexing on the trigger.

She never completed the gesture.

A gunshot echoed in the living room a handful of seconds before Svetlana could pull the trigger, and the woman crashed on the floor. Jenny stared at her for a moment, then she raised her gaze to see who her saviour was. A man was standing on the main door threshold, a gun still pointed toward the living room. Jenny looked almost in a daze as the man limped toward her, his figure becoming more indistinct in the shadows of the hallway, before he stepped again into the light and she found herself looking at Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He came to an halt in front of her and Jenny just stood there, drinking in the sight of the man she had thought she had lost forever. Then without thinking more, she threw her arms around him and buried her face against his chest.

Jethro surrounded her back in a one-armed hug and whispered, "It's over, Jen," into her hair, as her tears of relief started to fall.

Jenny had no idea of how long they stood like that, but when she felt more in control of herself and her emotions, she took a step back and saw that Jethro was staring at her gun, lying on the table.

"You were going to go for that, weren't you, Jen?"

Jenny didn't answer because she hadn't idea of what her answer would be. Jethro followed her with his gaze as she knelt to check Svetlana's pulse, which was predictably absent.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jethro asked quietly, tilting his head toward the dead woman. "Why didn't you tell me you couldn't do it? I would have done it."

Jenny straightened and faced Jethro, deciding to tell him all the truth. Her time is was running short and she didn't want to waste any more of it telling lies to those she loved.

"I didn't want to disappoint you. You had so much trust in my abilities."

"You never did," Jethro replied softly.

"Liar- I did disappoint you many a time, perhaps not back them, but certainly during my tenure as director. And don't try to deny it, I know when you lie."

Jethro just nodded.

"What happened in that diner?" Jenny asked after a while.

"I'm sure Leon told you," Jethro answered dryly, as he limped to his couch and sat down with a sigh. "We had ten interesting minutes during which he told me his reconstruction of the gunfight and I told him where he was right or wrong."

"Well, he was certainly wrong about something. He said you were dead." Jenny dragged a chair from the table, so she could sit in front of him. "I saw your blood," she shuddered.

"Dead no, wounded yes," Jethro touched his left leg, which he had raised on the couch. "This isn't my knee bothering me again. I was wounded when a shot smashed a table and a large splinter of wood penetrated into my thigh. I was lucky it didn't nick the femoral artery, but I still needed a blood transfusion while a doctor took the splinter out and sewed me up."

"And you have been walking on that leg?! You should be at the hospital, I bet you're running a fever!" Jenny exclaimed, suddenly noticing the sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Calm down, Jen. I've painkillers and antibiotics with me. See?" Jethro showed her two bottles of pills. "Can you bring me some water?"

Jenny all but growled as she stood up, but her anger was short lived. By the time she returned from the kitchen with a glass of water, the only emotion she felt was concern. "Drink all of it, Jethro. You need to be hydrated if you're running a fever."

"Uh-uh."

Jenny sat down again as Jethro took his medication. She waited until he posed the empty glass on a low table, when asked, "Why did you fake your death? Have you idea of how we all felt? It was like a nightmare we could not wake up from."

"I know Jen, but I thought it was the best decision I could take at the time. I had no idea if all our enemies had been neutralized and you know how things work: a federal agent involved in a gunfight in a deserted diner using an unregistered weapon? The Internal Affairs or the FBI would have jumped in a flash, opening an investigation and restricting our liberty to contact each other. I would have been kept in LA while the team would have been put under control. This way, even if I couldn't be in contact, I could move freely. I was counting on you and the team to find Viggo's instigator- and you did. I chose to stick near you 'cause I knew you would act alone and keep the team out of this." Jethro shook his head, as he stared at her, as he added softly, "I didn't wish to make you or the others suffer and I would have revealed myself if you didn't reach a breakthrough within 48 hours."

Jenny nodded. "So, how did it play out?"

"When it appeared clear I could be moved with that splinter in my leg, and that bringing in a common doctor in the diner wasn't option, Mike called Vance. He told him what had happened and to come to the diner with a military doctor able to perform camp surgery. Leon was already in LA, so it didn't take long before he arrived with medical help. You know the rest. And in case you are wondering why Vance went along with this, I don't know. Mike just told me it was time to collect a big one Vance owed him."

Jenny lowered her head, as she digested what she had heard. Jethro, as usual, was downplaying everything, but she was an expert in reading between the lines. Thus she knew that convincing Leon Vance hadn't been a walk in the park and she dreaded to think of what kind of deal Jethro might have sealed with him. Even more upsetting was the realization that Jethro could have really died in that diner, bleeding to death as he waited for help.

Finally, she raised her eyes and looked at him. "Jethro…I don't know what to say."

"Then don't."

"But I must- you risked dying to protect me from the repercussions of a mistake I made."

"You would have done the same for me," Jethro shrugged.

Jenny nodded. Of course she would have done it. Her eyes stopped on Svetlana's body. "Do you realize Vance could still cause problems?"

Jethro just smirked, "It depends by how big the favour Franks did him was. Leon looked very much like a kid caught stealing cookies when Mike made a reference to it."

"I hope you're right. Anyway, should an investigation been opened, I'll take all the responsibility for what happened," Jenny said with a tone that didn't allow protests. "I'll say you acted following my orders from the start and that the whole plan was my idea. You'll come out clean from this."

Jethro tilted his head and looked at her, eyes narrowed, "It could cost you your job, Jen."

"It doesn't matter," Jenny took a deep breath and plunged in. "It won't be mine for much longer in any case."

"Jenny?" Jethro sat straighter on the couch, his keen eyes showing his concern. "You are ill, aren't you?"

"Yes. A degenerative syndrome. Incurable. I've perhaps a year left," she swallowed hard, biting her trembling lower lip. She had thought she had accepted it, but now, as she felt his sadness wash over her, she realized it wasn't true. She wasn't ready to die. She didn't want to. "Jethro…" she whispered, eyes full of tears.

He didn't answered with words, but with actions. He opened his arms and Jenny lost no time in sliding down the chair and snuggle against his chest.

"I'll be near you, Jen."

She nodded, and just basked in his warmth and scent. Jenny would have gladly stayed so for hours hadn't reality brusquely intruded a few minutes later.

The noise caused by the front door being opened, made her scramble to her feet and reach for her weapon. She stood, her body covering the still sitting Jethro, with her gun pointed toward the hallway.

The lights in the living room were switched on and Tony appeared on the threshold, gun in hand. His eyes first lingered on Svetlana's body, then posed on Jenny.

"Are you all right, Director?" Tony asked, lowering his weapon.

"Yes, Tony—and I'm not the only one," Jenny took a step on the side, so that the younger agent could see Jethro.

Tony's eyes widened and goofy smile spread on his face as he exclaimed, "Boss, you're alive!"

"Ya think, DiNozzo?" Jethro's replied with an amused smirk.

A slender but strong arm roughly pushed Tony away from the threshold he was still blocking and Ziva stepped into the living room, her eyes feverishly scanning the surroundings until they stopped on Jethro. Jenny saw Ziva's face brighten with joy as she crossed the room in a few steps and threw herself in Jethro's waiting arms.

She watched as they embraced as if they never wanted to let the other go, and her heart swelled when she saw the soft look in Jethro's eyes. Yes, those two were really meant for each other, and Jenny silently promised she would do all she could to make sure nothing would ruin their happiness. She turned around to leave them a bit of privacy and looked at Tony, who was staring at the couple on the couch, mouth agape.

"Close your mouth, Tony," Jenny whispered with an amused smile.

The younger man obeyed and studied her. "Did you know?"

Jenny nodded, but didn't elaborate.

Finally, the couple loosened their embrace and Ziva pulled back to look at Jethro's eyes.

"Pull another stunt like this," she hissed, "and I swear I'll kill you myself."

Jenny and Tony laughed at the threat as Jethro managed to nod at Ziva and glare at them at the same time.

Satisfied, Ziva kissed Jethro quite soundly as Jenny turned to Tony. "Call McGee, Abby and Ducky," she said softly. "It's time we all have a talk about what happened in the past four days." She turned around and her eyes locked with Jethro's, who nodded. She faced Tony again, "I wish to get your input before making a decision about what do or say about her." Jenny tilted his head toward Svetlana. The younger agent nodded and walked away to make the calls.

Jenny returned to the couch and looked down at Jethro. "Where is Franks? I would like to have him with us for this little family gathering."

Jethro looked up and shook his shoulders. "I believe he's on his way to Mexico with Decker's insurance policy."

"What?! He knew what the code was?"

"Yep. We discovered it this afternoon. It was the reference code of an old NIS case. Decker had hidden his policy there."

"And?"

"And what, Jenny?" Jethro said, his face a picture of innocence, as he pulled an amused Ziva closer to him.

"What is it?!" Jenny all but exploded.

"I don't know, Mike didn't let me look at it," Jethro answered, sounding – incredibly for him— apologetic. But then his trademark smirk appeared on his lips as he continued, "But he said he'll be happy to show it to you if you go to visit him in Mexico and say _please_…"

THE END

A/N: Thank you to my faithful readers! I hope you enjoyed this. As for what Mike can have against Vance, we know from "Judgement Day" that they knew each other, and we know from "Knockout" that there is a chance -- nothing proved, mind you -- that Vance switched places with that other Marine. So, well, maybe Mike knows something we don't know about it and it is using it against Vance...Or, it could be something completely different!


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